


Frustration

by Euroshrimp



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Boys Will Be Boys, Hand Jobs, Helping Out a Friend, Injury Recovery, M/M, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:44:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8501104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euroshrimp/pseuds/Euroshrimp
Summary: Ronan is injured in a car accident and Gansey helps him out...in multiple ways.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm generally all about Pynch, but this particular situation felt slightly more taboo with these two. I'm fully aware that the scenario is completely self-indulgent, but I'd figured I'd still post it on the off chance that someone else out there shares my dirty predilections. 
> 
> Enjoy!

After his car accident ( _racing_ accident, as Declan keeps reminding him), Ronan is left with a mild concussion, a broken left wrist, and a fractured right clavicle. Amazingly, the police were only minimally involved, making the primary issues the damage to both the BMW and Ronan himself. 

Gansey is pissed.

“I don’t know why you insist on engaging Kavinsky, Ronan. He’s nothing but a thug. And look,” Gansey splays his arms out to the sides and mimes searching the hospital lobby, turning left and right, “where is he now that the _fun’s_ over?” 

Gansey says “fun” like he wants to put air quotes around it.

Ronan is leaning against a wall, one boot pressed flat against the sickly green tinged paint, his head tilted back, eyes closed to the early morning light filtering through the high glass windows. He’s the picture of practiced nonchalance, but anyone paying attention would be able to see the smoldering anger just under the surface.

“Why the fuck would K be here?” Ronan asks quietly through his teeth, his voice a simmering growl.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gansey replies, the sarcasm dripping off every syllable, “perhaps because he’s the one who ran you off the damn road?”

Ronan sighs resignedly as he pushes himself off the wall. 

“Gansey, it’s not like that. We were racing. Crashing is part of the risk, man, it’s not like he forced me off the road.” Ronan is looking at Gansey imploringly now. The situation is fucked enough as it is; the last thing they need is for Gansey to run off and challenge K to a duel.

“Besides,” Ronan continues, “why the fuck do I need K here when I’ve got you to rescue me?” He says this with a devilish smirk, and Gansey knows that Ronan is unashamedly appealing to his near-obsessive need to protect and provide for his friends, but it placates him well enough for the moment.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Gansey replies, most of the fight gone out of him, well aware that his fear for Ronan’s safety is the primary reason for his anger anyway.

“I do,” Ronan grins, “It’s part of my charm.” He waggles his eyebrows at Gansey who frowns back at him.

Gansey is saved from having to reply when a tight-lipped Declan joins them.

“Well,” Declan begins, “you managed not to kill yourself, so that’s something.”

Ronan rolls his eyes and turns his head away but doesn’t reply.

There’s an awkward silence between the trio, and then Declan straightens himself up, putting on his most dignified airs. 

Having clearly given up on the possibility of any kind of mature conversation with his brother, Declan turns to Gansey.

“So, he’s officially been released, but I think he should probably come up to D.C. with me for a few weeks, especially since you’re on summer break. He’s not going to have full use of either arm so I’ve already arranged to have a home care nurse.”

“Ah,” says Gansey, looking from Declan to Ronan and back again. Gansey’s fairly certain that a cooped up Ronan won’t be a healthy thing for either Lynch brother, but he takes a moment to consider his reply, hoping to keep the situation relatively drama-free going forward. 

He’s once again relieved of the need to respond when Ronan interjects.

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m going _anywhere_ with you, Declan.” Ronan’s raised voice in the otherwise quiet hospital lobby is drawing stares.

Declan, cringing at being made part of a public spectacle, lowers his voice and raises a hand in a placating gesture, “It’s just for a couple of weeks. You’re basically a damn invalid, Ronan; can’t you for _once_ make things easier and just listen to me?”

Ronan is seething; angry at Declan’s controlling suggestion as much as he is at Declan trying so hard to avoid making a scene.

He continues to stare daggers at his brother, but he addresses Gansey.

“Let’s go home. I need to get out of this fucking disease hole.”

The woman at the Information Desk looks scandalized, and Declan shakes his head. He knows he’s defeated.

Gansey, ever the politician, does his best to mollify him.

“Don’t worry, Declan. I’ll make sure he’s well taken care of. You’re welcome to stop by any time to check on him.”

“The fuck he is,” says Ronan’s retreating form, already half way across the lobby. Declan rolls his eyes and makes a dismissive gesture with his hand.

Gansey shrugs apologetically and turns to jog after Ronan.

 

*

 

After leaving Declan at the hospital, Gansey drives Ronan to Monmouth. His right arm is in a tight sling, he has a cast on his left hand that covers his thumb and forearm, and Gansey is in full-on Florence Nightingale mode by the time they arrive home. 

“Why don’t we set you up in the big room where I can keep an eye on you?” Gansey asks, gesturing around the large space of the main area on the second floor of Monmouth.

“No,” Ronan says simply, walking ahead of Gansey with a purposeful stride.

“Come on, Ronan, it’ll be great,” Gansey calls after him, depositing the painkiller prescriptions on his desk and shucking off his jacket. “We can fix up the couch, I’ll get us a TV, I can bring you soup.”

Ronan stops in his tracks and turns around.

“The fuck do I need soup for, Gansey? I didn’t break my jaw! And if you think I’m gonna let you spoon feed me…” Ronan trails off, but his glare makes it clear that the consequences of attempted spoon-feeding would be dire.

“Look, I know this is going to be hard for you, Ronan, but you don’t have full use of either arm. You’re going to need help eating, dressing, bathing…the home care nurse idea…”

“Fuck no.” Ronan interrupts. “I don’t need some nosey old lady following me around, Gansey. I’ll manage.”

“We could get a male nurse if that would make you more comfortable,” Gansey looks at Ronan hopefully. Ronan glowers back before striding into his room and slamming his door with a kick of his foot.

 

*

 

Later that evening, presumably after a long nap, a disgruntled looking Ronan emerges from his room. At the noise, Gansey looks up from where he’s splayed on the floor surrounded by various ancient looking texts and making notes in his journal. He quirks his eyebrow.

“I need help.”

The difference between the two boy’s reactions to this pronouncement cannot be more dissimilar. Ronan looks sulky and petulant, his eyes averted and downcast. Gansey, on the other hand, springs onto his feet like a superhero being called to action. He does his best to school his features, however, not wanting to make Ronan retreat by acting overly smug about being right that Ronan needs help, or worse, just generally too eager.

In his best imitation of cool indifference, Gansey slowly approaches Ronan, “Sure. What do you need?”

With his right arm in a sling and pressed close to his body, Ronan gestures wildly with his left in a sweeping motion up and down his body, “I can’t fucking get undressed.”

Gansey takes in the rumpled mess that is Ronan. His t-shirt is pulled up on one side, stuck under his sling, the collar looks to have been stretched to a breaking point, and the top button of his jeans has been undone.

Ronan points to the button, “This shit took me twenty minutes,” he growls.

Gansey does his best not to laugh. Instead, he sighs affectionately, which Ronan rolls his eyes at, and walks past Ronan to his room.

“Come on,” he calls over his shoulder, and Ronan slinks after him.

Gansey goes directly to Ronan’s drawers and starts pulling out anything with an elastic waist, and shirts with large armholes. He makes room atop Ronan’s dresser to ensure Ronan won’t have to battle with the drawers later, and selects a pair of soft looking loose grey sweats.

He looks over his shoulder to where Ronan has been watching the proceedings from the doorframe and beckons him over. Ronan reluctantly approaches.

“Ok,” says Gansey, hands on his hips as he runs his eyes over Ronan’s injuries, assessing the situation and determining the best way to proceed. “Let’s get your shirt off first.

The process is slow and uncomfortable, punctuated by hisses of pain and cursing from Ronan, and a series of “sorrys” from Gansey, but in the end they manage and Gansey tosses the shirt in the general direction of the hamper. He reaches next for Ronan’s jeans, but Ronan stops him, a look of embarrassment on his face. He mumbles something Gansey can’t quite make out.

“What?” Gansey asks.

“I’m going commando,” Ronan growls louder, his eyes averted from Gansey’s face.

“Oh,” Gansey pauses, “so you’re not wearing _anything_ under your jeans?”

Ronan scowls at him from under his brow, “That _is_ what commando means, Dick.”

Gansey frowns at the hated nickname but moves to go behind Ronan.

“Gansey, what are you doing?” Ronan turns around to try and face the other boy and for a moment they are dancing around each other, each trying to position themself differently.

“Stop,” Gansey reaches out and stills Ronan by grabbing his hips. “I’m trying to get behind you so I can help you out of your jeans without getting slapped in the face by your junk.”

The vividness and crude edge to Gansey’s words startle a laugh out of Ronan and he stops fidgeting. He nods once to communicate that he’s on board.

Once behind Ronan, however, Gansey is questioning the wisdom of this plan. He is distracted momentarily by the extensive tattoo but finds himself admiring the lines of Ronan’s back instead. He can’t help but notice how his strong shoulders taper down to a narrow waist, and his jeans are slung low enough to show off his back dimples which have always driven Gansey crazy in women, but look just as much at home on Ronan. 

Gansey shakes himself from this line of thought. He’s seen Ronan without a shirt on before, so why is something about this moment different? He remembers Adam accusing him once of having a vulnerability kink, insinuating that being the one to help someone turns him on. Gansey wonders if maybe he was right. The thought makes him shiver.

Ronan’s impatient huff pulls him from his reveries and Gansey sidles closer, doing his best to not press himself against Ronan as he wraps his arms around Ronan’s waist, reaching to undo his fly. Their positioning feels oddly intimate, but Gansey works on focusing on the task at hand, undoing the remaining buttons, breath catching only once at the sensation of coarse hair brushing the knuckles on his thumbs. 

When he’s done, he begins the awkward process of sliding Ronan’s unnecessarily tight jeans over his hips and down his legs, turning his head to avert his eyes as Ronan’s ass comes into view. When the jeans are pooled around Ronan’s ankles, Gansey turns to grab the sweats while Ronan extracts his feet, and stretches the waist of the sweats open for Ronan to step in. He sweeps the pants up Ronan’s legs and finally backs away, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Ronan turns around with a devilish grin on his face, but Gansey notices that his ears are tinted slightly pink, “Thanks, Dick. What’s for dinner?”

Gansey frowns again but is glad for the change in subject. 

“I’ll go pick up Nino’s,” he says, turning to exit Ronan’s room. He’s glad to have a task that doesn’t involve looking at Ronan and he’s itching to get out of Monmouth suddenly. Why is he so flustered, he wonders? Adam’s words haunt him as he leaves the building.

 

*

 

Over the next couple of weeks, Gansey and Ronan fall into a relatively comfortable routine. Ronan is able to dress and undress himself as long as he sticks to elastic waistbands and loose shirts, with Gansey helping on Sundays when Ronan has to dress for church, or if they decide to go somewhere where athletic shorts just won’t cut it.

Ronan learns to eat and brush his teeth with his left hand, even without the use of his thumb, and grudgingly allows Gansey to help him if things need cutting or scooping, though soup stays firmly off the menu. Mostly they eat a lot of grilled cheese and pizza, things that Ronan can easily pick up. He still bitches about drinking from a straw, but there’s not much to be done about it since he can’t grip a cup, so Gansey has learned to block it out.

Showering, however, _is_ awkward. At Ronan’s insistent refusal of a home care nurse, Gansey is left to the task, and the experience is what he imagines giving a pit bull a bath must be like. Lots of growling and hiding before resorting to bribes of favorite foods and rides in the car.

They tried it a few different ways, all of which felt slightly humiliating or embarrassing, but the thing that seems to work best is showering together in their underwear. By doing it this way, Gansey can wash Ronan’s hair and back without worrying about getting himself or the floor soaked, and Ronan doesn’t feel awkward at being the only person bathing. 

After the first few uncomfortable attempts, though, Gansey notices that he’s begun to actually look forward to their showers. Once Ronan has ceased his obligatory grumbling, they fall into a peaceful rhythm, Gansey taking turns washing himself and then Ronan, trading places under the hot water and making small talk. It feels cozy and pleasantly intimate. Gansey has always been a tactile person and this is a satisfying way to feel close to his friend while also feeling useful.

And though he never says it, Gansey knows that Ronan’s favorite thing is having his hair washed, so Gansey lets himself draw it out, massaging Ronan’s scalp and neck, and behind his ears. When it comes time to wash underneath their briefs, Gansey gives a soaped up wash cloth to Ronan to hold in his plastic covered left arm and turns around for several minutes to give him privacy, only helping when it’s time to pull his wet underwear back up. Occasionally one or the other will get an erection, as young men are like to do in a hot shower, but they are politely ignored.

Overall, things feel relatively back to normal. Adam, Blue, and Henry stop by; there are outings to Nino’s and Cabeswater, and summer in Henrietta carries on. Ronan’s attitude towards anyone who isn’t Gansey is more prickly than usual, but it’s generally chalked up to his frustration at not being able to drive, wear decent clothes, or butter his own toast.

It’s about three weeks in, however, that things take a turn for the worst. After a disastrous evening that consisted of Ronan eviscerating anyone who deigned to opened their mouth and resulted in everybody but Gansey storming out of Monmouth in a flurry of anger and hurt feelings, Gansey finds himself turning to a seething Ronan.

“What is going _on_ with you?” Ronan leans against the back of the couch, shoulders hunched and not looking at Gansey.

“Hey,” Gansey tries again, “I don’t expect you to win any congeniality awards, but these are our friends. They didn’t deserve that.” And when Ronan remains silent, Gansey approaches him slowly, reaching out to put a hand on his left arm, “Come on. Talk to me.”

Ronan pulls his arm out of Gansey’s hand and storms toward his room, “It’s none of your fucking business,” he calls over his shoulder.

Gansey puts his hands on his hips and gathers his patience before following. When he enters Ronan’s room, the other boy is gingerly taking off his shirt and sweats and easing himself into bed.

“Hey,” he tries again, infusing his voice with as much calming empathy as he can. “Are you in pain? You haven’t taken a pill in a while, is that it?”

“Yeah,” Ronan huffs, an edge of sarcasm to his voice as he pulls the blankets over his legs, “I’m in pain.”

“Ok, well let me get you somethi…”

“Not that kind of pain, Gansey,” Ronan says with a strained tone, stopping him before he can get more painkillers, “I’m _frustrated_ ,” he looks at Gansey meaningfully.

“Oh,” Gansey stops, feeling the wheels in his head turning, knowing he hasn’t yet fully grasped Ronan’s meaning. He looks at where Ronan is sitting up in bed, and watches as the other boy glances significantly at his blanket covered lap and then back at him. “Oh,” Gansey says again, understanding dawning on him.

“You mean you haven’t been able to…” Gansey trails off, gesturing in turn to Ronan’s lap.

“No man, not for like three weeks. How can I?” he gestures with his cast-wrapped left hand to his right arm held tight in its sling. “I’m not trying to be a dick, I’m just going crazy.” He lets himself fall back heavily onto his pillow, ears and neck stained pink.

“Wow,” says Gansey, mind working furiously, doing the math in his head and trying to figure out the longest he’d ever gone without masturbating. The most he can remember since starting was maybe three or four days, and that had been frustrating as hell. “Wow,” he says again, his tone slightly reverent. He’s actually starting to think that maybe Ronan Lynch is a saint for not murdering him in his sleep considering how wound up he must be.

Gansey’s series of “wow’s” are not apparently helpful, and Ronan’s temper is flaring again.

“Just get out of here, Gansey, there’s nothing you can do about it,” growls Ronan, doing his best to angle his body away from the other boy and wincing at the pain in his shoulder.

“Well, technically…” Gansey’s voice trails off awkwardly. He says it without thinking, and once the words are out, his mind is racing, reeling at what he’s just insinuated without really considering the consequences.

Ronan’s head whips around at his words and the boys stare at each other. Ronan takes in Gansey’s rapidly flushing cheeks and the way he’s rubbing agitatedly at the back of his neck.

“Are you fucking offering to jerk me off?” he barks, not one to mince words.

“Jesus, Ronan,” Gansey turns his back to Ronan, the blush evident on his neck, “I just hate seeing you in pain, and if I can help, I just…” Gansey huffs, “It’s not like it has to mean something.”

The silence in the room is thick. Gansey keeps his back to Ronan but stays in the room, allowing Ronan some privacy as he considers his offer; his _insane_ offer that he finds he doesn’t want to retract.

“You’re crazy,” Ronan intones, his voice incredulous, “How would we even do it?” he asks, slightly softer, a ribbon of curiosity laced through his words.

Gansey turns back around and sees that Ronan has turned his head away from him. His ears and neck are clearly flushed, but he hasn’t outright refused, so that’s something.

“Well,” Gansey considers, “we could do it in the dark. So it feels more private. I don’t even have to look at you.”

Gansey pauses, giving Ronan a chance to respond. He doesn’t.

“Think of it as a medical necessity,” tries Gansey. “You’re a teenage guy,” he continues, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he is one himself, “If you don’t you’ll either explode or commit murder, and then what am I supposed to tell Declan.”

Ronan huffs out a reluctant laugh but keeps his eyes turned away from Gansey.

“Look,” he attempts one last time, “if you want to keep on raging around here like a rabid dog, be my guest, but if you’d like to keep your friends, not to mention your sanity, the offer stands. Just think about it.”

Gansey turns to leave, but as he reaches for the doorknob, he hears, “Fine.”

“What?” Gansey turns back.

“I said ok,” Ronan says quietly. “But I don’t want this to get fucking weird, alright?”

“Ronan,” Gansey implores, “you’re like a brother to me.”

Both boys make a face.

“What I mean is,” Gansey starts again, “I just want to help. I don’t want you to be in pain. It’s nothing more than that. Zero weirdness.”

Ronan heaves a great sigh, then, “Ok, well turn off the light.”

“Oh,” Gansey looks startled, “now. Alright, well, do you have anything? Lotion, or…” he glances around the room looking for anything helpful.

“Uh, yeah, in the drawer,” Ronan gestures to the bedside table on his right, then attempts to reach out but squints his eyes in pain when his shoulder protests.

Gansey jogs over, “No, hey, I’ll get it.” 

He rummages in the drawer and finds a half empty bottle of lube and sets it on the bedside table before striding back to turn off the light. When he reaches the switch he glances over his shoulder at Ronan who has moved his left arm cast to rest over his eyes.

“You sure you’re ok with this?” asks Gansey.

“Nope,” replies Ronan, “but fuck it.”

Gansey knows this is the best he can hope for given the circumstances and he shuts off the light.

 

*

 

Gansey takes a moment and let’s his eyes adjust to the newly darkened room. The moon is giving off just enough of a glow to illuminate vague shapes, painting the room in a rainbow of greys and blacks.

In the silence he can hear Ronan’s breathing, the volume betraying his nerves and tugging at Gansey’s insides. This has got to be awkward for Ronan, but Gansey knows he needs it and he’s determined to make it as comfortable as he can for his friend. And good. He wants to make it good.

He navigates across the detritus strewn floor to retrieve the bottle of lube, then moves to the opposite side of the bed so that he’s on Ronan’s left where his cast is, reasoning that any accidental bumps against his arm are likely to be far less painful on this side.

Gansey opts to sit up next to Ronan as opposed to laying down, fearing that might make this more intimate than it’s intended to be.

“So,” he begins, “anything I should know? Things you like, or don’t like?”

Ronan groans, “Oh my god, Gansey, it’s a dick. Just grab it,” Ronan growls. When Gansey doesn’t respond, he takes a breath and tries again. “I don’t know, man, just do whatever you do to yourself. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Then, after a pause, he says more quietly, “I feel like a live fucking wire, it’ll probably take two seconds.”

“Ok,” Gansey says in a calming tone, “just relax.”

Ronan huffs out another laugh, “Not fucking likely.”

Both boys chuckle awkwardly and Gansey moves a little closer, sitting next to Ronan’s bare abdomen with his back to Ronan’s face.

Gansey reaches out and gently pulls the blankets down Ronan’s body, revealing, in the gloom, dark colored boxers with a pronounced tenting at the other boy’s groin. 

At the site, Gansey feels a thrill through his abdomen that he dismisses as nerves. He takes a breath and begins to pull at the boxer’s elastic waistband, Ronan lifting his hips to assist. It only takes a few gentle tugs and Ronan’s erection springs free, heavy against his stomach now, thick and intimidating. Gansey swallows.

He uncaps the lube and at the clicking sound, Ronan’s cock jumps. Gansey busies himself with measuring out the right amount, coating his fingers and palm, and letting the liquid warm on his skin.

“Ready?” Gansey asks, and from behind him he can hear Ronan’s short hair scratch on his pillow in what Gansey assumes is a nod. Ronan’s breathing has become more labored, and so, Gansey realizes, has his own. He steels himself and reaches out.

When his hand first makes contact, Ronan sucks in a sharp breath and his body goes impossibly still. Gansey, on the other hand, stops breathing entirely.

He slowly allows his fingers to wrap around Ronan’s swollen dick and strokes once down and then up again, a tentative caress to spread the lube around and get used to the feel of someone else in his hand. 

Until this moment he’s only ever felt himself this way and Ronan is big, but not obscenely so, and slightly thicker than Gansey. The skin is soft and taut, and Gansey is struck by how straight and symmetrical Ronan is, predictably comparing him to his own dick, which is slightly curved. Ronan is beautiful.

He begins to stroke in earnest, unable to take his eyes off of the lube-slick skin sliding between his fingers, and he can hear Ronan’s breath speeding up. Experimentally he twists his wrist as his hand passes over the head and is rewarded with a breathy moan from behind him. The sound ignites something in Gansey’s guts and he can feel himself getting hard against his will.

He continues to twist his wrist on every third stroke or so, marveling at the noises Ronan is making, feeling a dirty kind of pride that he’s the one causing it. Gansey can feel himself getting lost in the moment, mouth hanging slack as he drinks in the image of Ronan’s hard abdomen and even harder cock, sweeping his thumb over the head and pressing onto the slit, feeling it part gently under his finger.

Ronan begins to lightly thrust his hips in time with Gansey’s stroking, and Gansey hears himself exhale a breathy, “Yeah,” into the room. He experiences a terrified moment where he’s certain he’s crossed the line, positive that breathing out gasped words of encouragement is exactly the kind of thing that will make this weird, but before he can panic he hears Ronan’s wrecked voice, “Nnngh, fuck yeah.” And Gansey is done; panting and painfully hard in his shorts.

He feels Ronan’s cast-wrapped hand touch his lower back, the fingers with their limited mobility pushing up his shirt and scratching at the exposed skin above the waist of his shorts.

Ronan’s breathing has turned into a symphony of filthy sounds, every exhale a moan that goes straight to Gansey’s dick. In his hand he can feel the tale-tell sign of Ronan’s cock swelling and he changes his pace to short rapid strokes, concentrating on the top half of Ronan’s leaking cock. He can’t help himself when he says, “Come for me, Ronan.” And with a drawn out, “Fuuuuck,” Ronan is spurting over Gansey’s fingers and onto his stomach and chest, his hips still moving rhythmically as Gansey continues to stroke him through his orgasm.

Eventually, Ronan squirms, the friction too much for his now-sensitive cock, and Gansey lets him go.

In the aftermath, both boys are silent, letting their breath come back to normal, the awkwardness of what they’ve just done encroaching at the edges of their mutual euphoria.

Gansey breaks the silence.

“Hey, I’ll be right back. I’m gonna get a towel.”

He hurries away from Ronan’s spent form on the bed, grateful for the darkness and hoping it’s enough to hide the obvious tent in his own shorts. He quickly washes his hands and spares himself a glance in the mirror; he looks wrecked and sweaty so he splashes some cold water on his face and wills himself to relax before bringing a damp cloth back into Ronan’s room.

The other boy is still laying on the bed, but he’s managed to tuck himself back into his boxers and hike up the waistline just enough to give himself some semblance of modesty. He’s no longer covering his face and their eyes meet for the first time since turning out the lights.

In the dark, Ronan’s face looks serious and slightly haunted, but he doesn’t look away. Gansey can see him searching his face for any sign of regret or disgust, but he knows Ronan won’t find any. He offers a wry smile and sees Ronan’s mouth quirk up in response.

“Maybe now you can stop acting like a serial killer in training, huh?”

Ronan barks a laugh and rolls his eyes.

“So, are you gonna help me clean this shit up, or what?” Ronan gestures to his cum-streaked abdomen.

Gansey bats out at Ronan’s face, jostling his head playfully as he forcefully swipes the damp cloth over Ronan’s stomach and chest, purposefully being rough to alleviate any lingering unease.

“Hey, gentle,” Ronan laughs, “I’ve got a concussion, what are you trying to do?” Gansey ignores the comment but feels relief at the other boy’s relaxed tone.

When he’s done, he gets Ronan one of his painkillers and helps him sit up so he can sip some water, enjoying how this recently-satiated Ronan is allowing him to fuss without putting up a fight. Once he’s satisfied that there’s nothing more his friend needs, he adjusts the blankets over Ronan’s increasingly drowsy form and moves to leave Ronan’s room. 

“Hey,” he hears a voice behind him. Gansey turns around.

“Thanks, man, that was…” his voice trails off.

“Good.” Gansey replies, smiling in the dark, not needing Ronan to finish his statement.

“Well, shit,” Ronan says, misunderstanding, “I was gonna say ‘cool of you,’ but yeah, it was good. Really fucking good,” Gansey can hear him heave an exhale in the dark.

“Oh,” Gansey can feel himself blushing, “that’s not what I…” he sighs, “never mind. Good,” he says again.

Ronan gives a noncommittal hum, and then, “Night.”

“Goodnight.”

 

*

 

When Gansey finally slides into his own bed, he’s still wired. The adrenalin he felt while getting Ronan off hasn’t stopped reverberating through his body. He can feel all of the complicated thoughts rushing around in his head, just out of reach of his conscious mind, but he doesn’t want to go there. He was just a friend helping a friend, and yeah, he got turned on, but wouldn’t anyone in that situation?

There’s a tiny voice in his head that tells him most friends wouldn’t have offered what he’d offered; that most guys don’t touch their friends like this, but he does his best to push the thought away. So what. He’s not “most guys,” and his relationship with Ronan isn’t like “most friends,” and he doesn’t want it to be. What they have is more profound than what usually passes for friendship, so doesn’t it follow that there might be unconventional aspects that are still perfectly ok?

At this thought, Gansey flashes on the memory of Ronan’s thrusting hips, the slide of Ronan’s wet cock under his hand, and he’s hard again.

Without letting himself think anymore, Gansey turns onto his side and pushes his hand into his sweats. He jerks himself fast and hard and quiet, pressing his face into his pillow. When he cums it’s with the memory of Ronan’s breathy sighs in his ear, the smell of sex in his nose.

Gansey sleeps like the dead that night.

 

*

 

The next morning, Gansey’s drinking coffee and reading when Ronan emerges from his room looking sleep-rumpled and rested.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Fucking great,” yawns Ronan, ambling towards the kitchen at the promise of coffee for himself.

Their eyes meet briefly and there is a moment of shyness between the two boys. Gansey offers a small smile, “Good,” he replies meaningfully, purposefully using their word from the night before in an effort to communicate that all is well.

“Good,” Ronan repeats, his face opening in an answering smile that tugs a little at Gansey’s heart.

They drink their coffee in silence after that, and Gansey can’t help noticing that the wild edge has gone out of Ronan. He soothed the savage beast, he thinks, and smiles to himself, the memory sending skittering bolts of electricity through his middle.

The rest of the day is mostly spent in companionable quiet, Gansey reading, Ronan listening to music or watching movies on his laptop. Gansey notices that they are both touching each other more than usual; casual brushes of fingers or palms on the small of backs, Ronan nudging him gently with his head and putting his legs in Gansey’s lap.

It’s not exactly surprising, then, that when it’s time to shower that evening, both boys hesitate for only a moment before removing their underwear and stepping into the hot spray fully nude. The mechanics of the shower are essentially the same, Gansey washing Ronan and himself in turns, lingering when it’s time to wash Ronan’s hair, but instead of turning his back as Ronan awkwardly attempts to scrub his own groin, Gansey does it for him, lathering him thoroughly and stroking him to completion for a second time in the steamy mist.

When he finishes, Ronan gestures meaningfully with his chin at Gansey’s own erection and says, “Now you.”

His cast and sling prevent him from being able to help, but he presses himself against the back of Gansey’s warm body, talking him through it and rubbing his cheek against Gansey’s neck as he cums.

After, when they’re both warm and dry, and dressed for bed, Ronan walks to his room and stops in the doorframe. He looks over his shoulder at Gansey, his expression both alluring and shy, “You coming?”

Gansey follows him in.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on a continuation but wanted to keep this as a fully contained piece in case the next bit just doesn't come together. Hope it was enjoyable! :)


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